


Ye Who Sang Creation's Story (and were subsequently edited out)

by insominia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Christmas Fluff, Christmas Movies, Domestic Fluff, Excessive Christmas Movies, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley do Christmas which leads Crowley to several revelations regarding the Christmas story.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love





	Ye Who Sang Creation's Story (and were subsequently edited out)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lurlur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/gifts).



> LUR! MERRY CHRISTMAS DARLING! 
> 
> I have never written Good Omens stuff before, I likely never will again, but for Lur's Christmas present, there could not have been anything else! 
> 
> My freaky darling, I hope you have the most magical Christmas and for my part I shall endevour to make it so. Here's to many more Christmasses of being friends simply because it's too awkward to drop each other. #totesawks

In hindsight, it had surely only been a matter of time before Aziraphale carefully folded the newspaper he’d been reading and announced to the room at large, even though only Crowley was present, “I think we should do Christmas.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Crowley looked as though he had just discovered something particularly unpleasant on the underside of his shoe. “ _Do_ Christmas?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, cheerily, “Have a Christmas tree, decorate, have dinner, do Christmassy things.”

Crowley had never looked less convinced of something in his life, impressively so, given that he’d been involved in averting the Apocalypse. But then Aziraphale had smiled at him that small smile that reached every part of him and said, “Oh go on, it’ll be fun.”

“I can never say no to you, Angel.” Crowley mumbled it so it at least sounded like he protested, before he turned his attention elsewhere, to nothing in particular, so that when Aziraphale beamed at him it wouldn’t be contagious.

Of course, Crowley had no way of knowing exactly what it was he was agreeing to. Had he known...well, he still would have said yes, but he’d have complained about it more.

The tree was the first thing to appear. A magnificent, nine feet tall specimen that scraped the very limits of how tall something could stand in the lounge of the South Downs cottage. It was real, naturally, and Crowley would never admit to how pleasant the inescapable scent of pine was. It was no minor miracle, however, to ensure the mass of needles that it shed stayed in the vicinity of the tree and didn’t somehow end up all over the house. Crowley managed it and Aziraphale had seemed so grateful he couldn’t bring himself to tell him it was because of the stern words he’d had with the tree the night before. Instead, he settled for a stern glare over Aziraphale’s shoulder, pleased when the pine trembled and held itself a little straighter. It softened when they decorated it and transformed it into a vision with tiny crystal baubles, glass bells and frosted white fairy lights.

“Oh, isn’t it beautiful, dear?” Aziraphale sighed, lacing their fingers together as he and Crowley stepped back to admire their work.

Instead of saying anything, Crowley made a non-committal sound from the back of his throat and with an exasperated eye-roll hidden behind his shades he sighed, “I suppose now we have to think about presents to put under it?”

Aziraphale’s hands clapped delightedly, “What a marvellous idea.”

Crowley walked away, grumbling, under his breath but Aziraphale just beamed after him. He knew Crowley was enjoying it really.

The tree went up, and the fairy light reindeer family were placed in the garden, because, ‘Aren’t they just _darling_? We simply must have them.” From there Aziraphale determined that they must engage in Christmas shopping, which meant taking the Bentley for a tour of Christmas markets. They sipped warm mulled wine in Birmingham. They listened to carollers and complained about people using umbrellas when there was hardly any space to breathe at Bath, and they wondered where on earth Swansea’s market was because surely it couldn’t be just that one street? They rode the carousel at Leeds, patronised local artists at Brighton and donned clothes they had not needed for a century for their trip to Portsmouth. Their rather roundabout journey ended, naturally, in London, where they both marvelled (however much Crowley claimed the opposite was true) at the splendour of the decorations, gasped at the ice sculptures and eventually settled on a bench, sharing roasted chestnuts, watching the crowds move around them.

Somewhere, a violin was playing the first chords of ‘Silent Night’ and Crowley leaned into Aziraphale. He wanted to say that he had had a surprisingly wonderful time. He wanted to say that Aziraphale looked perfect and the way his eyes caught the gleam of the lights sparkling around them was nothing short of a vision prophets would cry for. Of course, he said none of these things, but Aziraphale squeezed his hand and smiled at him, anyway. One does not maintain a friendship for so many thousands of years without learning what went unsaid.

Upon arriving home with more packages that could possibly fit inside such a small car, Aziraphale announced the next element of their traditional Christmas; the films.

“Oh, Angel, _really_?”

“Absolutely. Don’t worry, I thought we’d start with a classic.”

That Dickens’ ‘ _A Christmas Carol_ ’ was a classic, was never in dispute. The idea of performing it with muppets in lieu of the main cast, in Crowley’s opinion, patently was. He softened for _Miracle on 34 th Street_, even if Aziraphale elbowed him harshly when he wondered aloud if Santa was a demon or an angel. By the time they started _Santa Claus: The Movie_ he still hadn’t come to a decision. Naturally, Aziraphale was thrilled when Crowley made his own suggestions over what they should watch, though they argued into the night over whether _Nightmare Before Christmas_ was suitable for Christmas or Halloween. “It can be both, Angel,” Crowley had insisted, but that was nothing compared to the exasperation he received when he suggested _Die Hard_.

It was _Nativity!_ that did it. Did what, Aziraphale had no idea, but it upset Crowley and not just because he wanted to watch the sequel first, insisting the lead actor was much more handsome. Crowley might have persuaded Aziraphale to many things over the years, but watching a sequel before the original was a temptation too far. The film was apparently _something_ too far for Crowley too, though why Aziraphale couldn’t quite figure out. He was unusually quiet once the plot kicked in and not his usual sarcastic kind of quiet either.

“We can watch something else, if you like?” Aziraphale attempted, weakly, after an hour of realising Crowley was unhappy, but the demon waved him off.

“No, no, it’s fine. I want to see how it turns out.”

The credits had barely started rolling before Crowley was on his feet, excusing himself and retreating to a different room, leaving Aziraphale startled and more than a little confused. Still, Crowley clearly wanted space for a moment and Aziraphale would give it to him. And possibly bake some gingerbread men as a peace offering, maybe he had gone a little overboard on the Christmas lark.

He likely wouldn’t have disturbed Crowley at all, if it weren’t for the heated shout that rang through the hallway, not an hour later.

“ _Oh, are you serious_?!”

Aziraphale clattered into the reading room with very little grace, not entirely sure what he was going to find. “Crowley, are you-oh-”

Of all the things he expected to find, Crowley sitting in Aziraphale’s favourite reading chair with a King James Bible open on his lap was not on the list.

“Have you seen this?!” hissed Crowley, “Have you actually read this?”

“Well...”Aziraphale settled beside him, “Sort of, I mean...I helped a few of the writers out at various times. Poor Daniel,” he added as an afterthought.

“I mean the bit about the kid being born!” He flicked through the pages, “We’re not in here at all.”

Aziraphale frowned, “Have you seriously not looked at this in all this time? Of course we’re not in it, it was never about us...”

“Oh don’t give me _that!”_ Crowley cried, “Look at this!” He flicked to the relevant page with surprising dexterity given the flimsiness of the pages. “And in the sixth month the angel, Gabriel, was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth.”

“Yes, well-”

“That wasn’t Gabriel, that was _you_!”

Aziraphale sighed, though he was a little touched by Crowley’s indignation on his behalf. “I know, but, well, it was decided that we’d _say_ it was Gabriel, something of a P.R. exercise, I suppose.”

“And this?” Crowley thumbed through to a different book, “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone 'round them: and they were sore afraid. That’s not how I remember it, Angel.”

Aziraphale steepled his fingers and straightened a little in the chair, “You weren’t there, you don’t know-”

“Oh don’t tell me I don’t know what happened, you were complaining about how much filth you stepped in for weeks. There was no glory shining around and they weren’t sore afraid. They asked what the hell you were doing in their field and told you to shove off.”

“That may be, but they went eventually, didn’t they?” The thought struck Aziraphale and he turned, accusingly, to Crowley, “Hang on! This has nothing to with me, does it? This is because they missed out your bit, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It is, isn’t it!”

“Well,” Crowley snapped, elongating the word in such a way that Aziraphale knew he was right, “It deserves some mention, surely? I mean, a census of the whole country, requiring everyone to return to their place of birth to be registered when only ten people knew how to write and they had to share an inkpot between them?”

“Yes, even for you it was some impressive red-tape,” Aziraphale said, fondly, “Your best work, I remember you saying.” He reached a hand over to cover Crowley’s, “I am sorry, dear.”

Crowley was only half aware of it, turning back in the book. “They don’t mention me here, either. I mean three wise men and they thought to follow a star? No wonder they got lost.”

“Hm,” Aziraphale made a noise of agreement, “Unfortunate about that whole Herod business though.”

Crowley winced, “Hell gave me so much credit for that, but that was just the three of them being stupid. I mean, really, following a star? They owned maps.”

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled, “Stroke of luck about that stable being available though. Nothing short of a miracle, really.”

“I’m not a complete bastard,” Crowley protested, “She _was_ having a baby!”

“It was very nice,” Aziraphale assured him, “Very warm. Surprisingly clean.”

“Yes. Well. You know.” Crowley shrugged it off, closing the book, but Aziraphale stilled his hand.

“I _do_ know, dear. Now come on, let’s watch _The Star_ and we can complain about how inaccurate it is, if you like.”

“What’s it about?”

“Something about the donkey protecting the baby, I think.”

“Oh come off it, Angel. You can’t be serious.”

Aziraphale beamed at him, “Completely. Now come on and then, if you like, we can watch _Die Hard_.”

It shouldn’t have been enough to get Crowley on his feet, but it was and the two of them grinned as they returned to the lounge to loudly criticise a film about an animated donkey made for children.


End file.
